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PROLOGUE: ALESSANDRO

“You ready, Aless?” Domenico smacks my chest with the back of his hand.

“Says the guy whose palms are sweating,” I scratch my jaw, the stubble itching. The older guys say it makes me look tough, though.

“Shut the fuck up, Alessandro! You know I get nerves. I’m just excited .”

Nerves. Yeah.

I just hide mine better.

It’s a cliché, the way we’re sitting in the car, waiting for our mark. Two kids, about to pass a test, become made men.

Papa will be proud. Mamma will be relieved I survived. Catalina will ask when she’s getting the diamond ring I promised her.

As soon as we’re initiated, I can start making real money.

It’s a massive load off that they’re on a boat somewhere in the Mediterranean right now. No one waiting for me back at the house or breathing down my neck.

Helicopter parents are the worst.

The only thing I gotta remember to do when this is done is take a shower and tuck the babies in. Adriano’s gonna be waiting up like he does. He’s a grumpy-ass old grandpa stuck in a ten-year-old’s body. The twins will be asleep, but I promised mamma I’d check on them every night.

Shivers shudder through me and I roll my shoulders.

I need to move. I’m ready. Been ready for a long time.

Yes, that’s pretty fucked up. Seventeen and primed for violence. That’s just the life .

That’s what it means to be a Diamante.

“There they are. Right on time.”

“Should we wait, see if they leave an opening, or just go in guns blazing?” Domenico’s finicky, twitching in his seat.

“Your call, Dom, Uncle said you lead.” He’s two years older than me, so he’s supposed to be in charge. Even if our great-uncle Giancarlo thinks I’d be a better captain someday. I disagree. I’ve always deferred to Dom. He’s my best friend. He’s my cousin, but we’re brothers.

He’s brazen, doesn’t hold back like I do. Sometimes that means he doesn’t think things through. That’s why we work so well together.

Tonight, he’s deferring to me, though, something that rarely happens. “We can’t afford to mess this up. These pezzi di merda have been smuggling girls through our fucking territory.”

“I agree.”

“Fuck it. You take the left side. Don’t let them make it to the truck.”

We’re sprinting through the dark, two shadows of death in the night.

My blood is on fire by the time I reach the side of the building. Two leather-jacketed weasel-looking fucks are guarding the door when it opens and their captain stumbles out, drunk, a lit cigarette hanging from his lip.

“Le’s get dis fucking delivery over with, eh?” He laughs, slapping one of his boys on the back.

It’s the kind of moment that sears itself into your brain. I’ll never forget it.

Dom is the blur of motion I see bolting toward them from the alley. He rails one of the guards across the head with rebar, splashing the wall with the guy's brains.

All at once they’re panicking, reaching for their guns.

My legs are kicking off and pushing me forward before I can think. Slow motion. Fast forward. Weird how your mind works when the adrenaline hits.

Dom fires a shot, the one on my right goes down.

Then it’s just the boss standing like a mook in the doorway, holding his piece in a limp grip, staring right at me like I’m the angel of death. I plant my heel into his chest plowing him back into the room, smashing the table.

Everything goes real quiet.

I should be excited. But there’s this sinking feeling in my stomach.

He’s bumbling, shouting, crying. I really want him to stop. To face this like a man.

Dom’s yelling my name, far off, like in another world. I should go.

So I point my gun right into the piss-soaked thug’s face.

I don’t really even remember pulling the trigger. Just the blood. So much blood all over me.

The next thing I know, I’m back in the car, we’re rocketing down the 6. “Fucking movie shit, the way you came at them Aless, you’re a goddamn terror! I have never seen anybody so scared.”

His hyena cackle raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

“How many we get?” It’s an empty question, but the only thing I can think of.

“I took the two guards, the driver. You got the leader. Fuck!” He hammers the steering wheel with his hand, bouncing in his seat. “We finally did it, boy. You and me.”

“You and me, damn straight,” I try to match his enthusiasm, but something doesn’t sit right. I shake it off, put on a smile.

Dom takes us out to the docks, we sit on the hood of the car, and he opens a bottle of scotch that he probably stole from one of our uncles. “A toast. To you, Alessandro!”

“Ha! And to you, Domenico. You’re gonna be the king one day.”

“You’ll be right there by my side, brother. With your beautiful bride. I only hope I get so lucky one day!”

“What woman could resist you, Dom?”

“That’s the problem, every old guido’s daughter wants to shack up with me. I need a queen, Aless!”

“You need to get your head out of the clouds, man.”

“Nah. One day…I’m gonna have it all.”

We sit there like that for hours. The scotch stops burning after the fourth or tenth swig. Dom’s six sheets to the wind by the time we turn in, so I drive us home in the early hours before dawn.

That nagging feeling chases me all the way.

It’s not the kill. It’s not the lack of thrill I feel for something I’ve waited so long for.

It’s not until we reach the compound, the estate, that I realize what I’m feeling.

My nonna always called it il cruccio . Her trial.

The worry she always felt when a loved one was in danger. Or worse. She said she could die for the ache of not knowing.

We come in the back like always, in the dark. I let Dom run off to the clubhouse, tell him I’ll be right there. He’ll want to get the notoriety, the pats on the back from the big guys, Lito and Tony, his cousins. They’ll still be up playing cards.

I need to check in on the boys. Make sure they’re safe.

That’s when I see that the lights are on in the house. Everyone is up. Noise. Voices.

Adriano’s standing in the doorway of the sunroom, at the back door when I cross the lawn. He looks so small, especially with a six-year-old in his arms. Ciro is fast asleep. Adriano stares right at me, doesn’t even flinch when he sees my shirt, spattered in gore. Fiero’s standing right next to him, sucking his thumb. He’s been crying.

“Come on, Ero.” I pick him up, pulling Adriano close to my side.

The kitchen door hangs open, ajar.

“What do we tell him, Gian?” My great-aunt Eva’s voice trembles. “How do we tell him?!”

“Tell me what?” My voice rings hollow in my head, and I draw my little brothers closer to me. The elders are all there, gathered around the table like some holiday meeting.

Every face is grim.

“Ay! Mio bambino…” Aunt Eva hides her face, sobbing into her handkerchief.

Uncle Giancarlo nods, the way he does when he’s got a decision to make. Solemn. Whether it’s a call to end a life, or which meat he wants on his sandwich. Always thoughtful. Always careful. Always stern.

“ Mio figlio,” he mumbles, opening his arms to me. It means everything for him to make that gesture. In this way, on this night.

It means I’m a man.

But tonight …

It’s an apology, as well. I feel his arms encircle me, pull me close as I start to shake.

“Mamma? Papa?” It’s all I manage past the raw panic choking me.

“And Catalina, buon anima .”

God rest their souls.